ACT II.

II. SCENE I.

W

CYMBELINE's Palace.

Enter Cloten, and two lords.

CLOTEN.

AS there ever man had fuch luck! when I kifs'd the Jack upon an up-caft, to be hit away! I had an hundred pound on't; and then a whorfon jack-an-apes must take me up for swearing, as if I borrowed mine oaths of him, and might not spend them at my pleasure.

1 Lord. What got he by that? you have broke his pate with your bowl.

2 Lord. If his wit had been like him that broke it, it would have run all out.

Clot. When a gentleman is disposed to swear, it is not for any ftanders-by to curtail his oaths. Ha?

2 Lord. No, my lord: nor crop the ears of them.

Clot. Whorfon dog! I give him fatisfaction? would he had been one of my rank.

2 Lord. To have smelt like a fool.

[afide. a pox

Clot. I am not vext more at any thing in the earth, on't. I had rather not be fo noble as I am; they dare not fight with me, because of the Queen my mother; every jack-slave hath his belly full of fighting, and I must go up and down like a cock that no body can match.

2 Lord. You are a cock and a capon too, and you crow cock with your comb on.

[afide. Clot.

Clot. Say't thou?

2 Lord. It is not fit your lordship should undertake every companion, that you give offence to.

Clot. No, I know that: but it is fit I fhould commit offence to my inferiors.

2 Lord. Ay, it is fit for your lordship only.

Clot. Why fo I say.

1 Lord. Did you hear of a stranger that's come to court to-night? Clot. A stranger, and I not know on't?

2 Lord. He's a strange fellow himself, and knows it not.

1 Lord. There's an Italian come, and 'tis thought one of Leonatus's friends.

Clot. Leonatus! a banish'd rascal; and he's another, wherefoever he be. Who told you of this stranger?

1 Lord. One of your lordship's pages.

Clot. Is it fit I went to look upon him? is there no derogation

in't?

2 Lord. You cannot derogate, my lord.

Clot. Not eafily, I think.

2 Lord. You are a fool granted, therefore your iffues being foolish, do not derogate.

[afide. Clot. Come, I'll go fee this Italian: what I have loft to-day at bowls, I'll win to-night of him.

Come; go.

2 Lord. I'll attend your lordship.
That such a crafty devil as his mother,
Should yield the world this ass; a woman, that
Bears all down with her brain, and this her fon
Cannot take two from twenty for his heart,
And leave eighteen. Alas poor princess,
Thou divine Imogen, what thou endur'st,
Betwixt a father by thy ftep-dame govern'd,
A mother hourly coining plots; a wooer,
More hateful than the foul expulfion is

[Exit Clot.

Of

Of thy dear husband, than that horrid act

Of the divorce ---- he'll make the heav'ns hold firm
The walls of thy dear honour; keep unshak'd
That temple thy fair mind, that thou may'st stand
T' enjoy thy banish'd lord: and this great land.

[Exeunt.

SCENE II.

A magnificent bed-chamber, in one part of it a large trunk. Imogen is discover'd reading in her bed, a lady attending.

Imo.

HO's there? my woman Helen?

WLady. Please you, madam---

Imo. What hour is it?

Lady. Almost midnight, madam.

1110

Imo. I have read three hours then, mine eyes are weak,
Fold down the leaf where I have left; to bed
Take not away the taper, leave it burning:
And if thou canst awake by four o'th' clock,

I pr'ythee call me----sleep hath seiz'd me wholly. [Exit lady.
To your protection I commend me, gods;
From fairies, and the tempters of the night,

Guard me, befeech ye.

[Лleeps.

[Iachimo rifes from the trunk.

Iach. The crickets fing, and man's o'er-labour'd sense

Repairs it felf by reft: our Tarquin thus

Did foftly press the rushes, ere he waken'd

The chastity he wounded. Cytherea,

How bravely thou becom'ft thy bed! fresh lilly,
And whiter than the fheets! that I might touch,
But kifs, one kiss ---- rubies unparagon'd
How dearly they do't! ---- 'tis her breathing that
Perfumes the chamber thus: the flame o'th' taper

Bows

Bows tow'rd her, aud would under-peep her lids,
To see th' inclosed lights, (now canopy'd
Under the windows,) white and azure, lac'd
With blue of heav'n's own tinct ---- but my defign's
To note the chamber ---- I will write all down,
Such and fuch pictures ---- there the window, ---- such
Th' adornment of her bed ---- the arras, figures -
Why fuch, and fuch ---- and the contents o'th' story ---
Ah, but some nat'ral notes about her body,
Above ten thousand meaner moveables

Would teftifie, t'enrich mine inventory.
Osleep, thou ape of death, lye dull upon her,
And be her sense but as a monument,
Thus in a chappel lying. Come off, come off.

11

[Taking off her bracelet.

As flipp'ry as the gordian-knot was hard.
'Tis mine, and this will witness outwardly,
As strongly as the confcience do's within,
To th' madding of her lord. On her left breast
A mole cinque-spotted, like the crimson drops
I'th' bottom of a cowflip. Here's a voucher,
Stonger than ever law could make: this fecret
Will force him think I've pick'd the lock, and ta'en
The treasure of her honour. No more ---- to what end?
Why should I write this down that's rivetted,

Screw'd to my mem'ry. Sh' hath been reading late,
The tale of Tereus, here the leaf's turn'd down
Where Philomele gave up ----I have enough
To th' trunk again, and shut the spring of it.

Swift, swift, you dragons of the night! that dawning

a

ope the raven's eye: I lodge in fear,

May 2 ope

Though this a heav'nly angel, hell is here.

[Clock frikes.

One, two, three: time, time! [Goes into the trunk, the Scene clofes.

a bear

SCENE

I Lord.

SCENE III.

The Palace again.

Enter Cloten and Lords.

Y the coldeft that ever turn'd up ace.

OUR lordship is the most patient man in loss,

Clot. It would make any man cold to lose.

1 Lord. But not every man patient, after the noble temper of your lordship; you are most hot and furious when you win. Clot. Winning will put any man into courage: If I could this foolish Imogen, I shall have gold enough: It's almost morning, is't not?

1 Lord. Day, my lord.

get

Clot. I would this mufick would come: I am advised to give her musick a-mornings, they fay it will penetrate.

Enter Muficians.

Come on, tune; if you can penetrate here with your fingering, fo; we'll try with tongue too; if none will do, let her remain: but I'll never give o'er. First, a very excellent good conceited thing; after, a wonderful sweet air with admirable rich words to it; and then let her confider.

SONG

Hark, bark, the lark at heav'n's gate fings,
And Phoebus 'gins arife,

His feeds to water at thofe Springs

On chalic'd flowers that lyes:

And winking Mary-buds begin
To ope their golden eyes,

With every thing that pretty is,
My lady fweet arife:
Arife, arife.

VO L. VI.

U

So